“Knock it off, you little shit. The fight starts after I have the shoestring in place.” She was wrapping her shoestring around my thumbs, binding them together at their base behind my back. It took a little while. “How’s that?” she asked, walking around to face me. “Can you get it off?”

“I had no idea you were into me like this” I joked.

Without warning, she leaned against me and punched me in the balls. I went down instantly and involuntarily curled up in a ball.

“Can you get it off?” she repeated as she forced her foot between my legs.

I decided that this would be a damn good time to find out. After about 30 seconds of thrashing around, I was forced to conclude that I might have underestimated her and her shoestring. I had knocked her over once, but she had gotten back up, unleashed a flurry of kicks, and then pinned me on my back. Now, whenever I squirmed, she would lean forward on the foot she had planted in my crotch. My eyes were watering and it was still hard to breathe normally.

As I calmed down and my eyes refocused, she hovered over me, a length of duct tape stretched between her hands. “Do you need this? Or do you want to chitchat with me as we do this?”

She was leaning forward as she said it and it hurt like hell. “This is,” I was stammering, “I don’t think ass kicking is normally this painful.” There was a line of tears trickling down my cheek, I couldn’t help it.

“Your ass kicking hasn’t started yet, sunshine. You’re sure you don’t need this?” she waved the tape at me playfully. Then she paused, surprised. “Hello? What have we here?”

With a mixture of shame and excitement, I realized that she was prodding my pants, poking my erect penis with the toe of her shoe. She prodded it a half dozen times as if she couldn’t believe it herself. Lifting her foot, she settled on my stomach, straddling me. Then she put the tape over my mouth, methodically smoothing it, tearing off a second piece, and affixing that. The whole time she was staring directly into my eyes and I was staring back, unable to look away.

“You...nasty...little...fuck.” She said it slowly, emphasizing every word, letting it sink in. “You like this.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head from side to side. But I knew she wasn’t buying it.

Then she slapped my face playfully. “Whatever” she purred. She slapped me again. “You like that too?” She laughed. “Who the fuck cares, anyway? I like it.” She slapped me again, hard this time. Then she peel off her left tennis shoe, the one with the missing shoestring and proceeded to massage my face with her foot, giggling maniacally.

“So,” her voice had low sultry tone now, “I have a theory about why I’m always wearing gloves in your dirty little sketches. She planted her feet on either side of my head and tweaked my nose instead of slapping me like I was expecting. Without warming she reached down and ripped the duct tape off my mouth. Then without pausing, she stood up and walked across the room.

I had a few minutes to gasp like a fish and wonder what she was doing, then she was back. She leaned over me as she made a point of slowing putting on a pair of soft angora gloves, stretching and flexing her fingers inches from my face. “Now” she said as she resumed straddling me, slipping her gloved hands under my shirt and running her fingertips across my upper abs and along my ribs “tell me why I’m always wearing gloves in your sketches. Don’t leave anything out.”

As I started to stammer out a question, she frowned at me, leaning backward as she forced her foot into my mouth until I started to gag and squirm. Then she removed it, smiling as she leaned forward and resumed the playful tickling. “You were saying?”

In high school, I voluntarily set myself up for detention just to feed my addiction to Allison Rush. It was a calculated risk, despite her ambivalence. At first, I thought she might not know that I existed, but we got past that phase. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she hated me, I think she just developed an appetite for being rude to me. It sure beat not existing.

So I was staring at her hair as I sketched a semi-nude of her in tattered furs being bitten in the ass by a large mangy wolf. Partly I did this to improve my personal collection of erotic art, but mostly I did it because she found it irritating. The wolf was shaping up nicely, but Allison’s hair was giving me trouble. It didn’t fit with the violent movement implied in the scene. Looking up at her again, she had turned toward me and was scowling. I smiled.

“Stop doing that or I’m gonna kick your ass” she quipped.

She was all of 5’3” and 105 pounds soaking wet. I stopped sketching her and leaned forward, looking at her over the tops of my glasses. “Look Princess, I’m sure that all of that cheerleading has enhanced your vampire slaying skills, but I am not a vampire.”

“I got kicked off cheer...” she shook her head, then refocused her scowl “according to the internet, I can render you completely defenseless with nothing more than a shoestring...thus allowing me to kick your ass at my leisure.”

I pondered her unexpected comeback. “That’s a load of bullshit. But I’ll give you points for the dramatic use of the word thus.”

She blinked at me a few times as I attempted to read her mind. Her poker face held.

I was a little surprised at the direction the conversation was taking. “Is everything ok? You seem a little intense today.”

“Fuck you. You’re going to keeping annoying me for the rest of my natural life until I make you stop. It might as well be now.”

“And you think this will change something? I mean...“ I stopped and tried to frame my thoughts. “What are we talking about, exactly?”

She was smiling a little now. Clearly, this was part of some half-baked plan she had scripted out ahead of time and it was going better than she expected. “You” she said pointing at me. “Shoestring” she said it slowly, pointing at her laced up tennis shoes. “Ass kicking” she finished as she simulated a modest kicking motion with the aforementioned tennis shoe. “Kick ass, take drawings, make the asshole cry” she held up her notebook showing the aforementioned three point bullet list, “it’s the perfect plan.”

I looked down to buy myself a moment and went back to work on her hair. Blood was rushing to my face. When I looked up, she was still staring at me. Something was different. “We’re out of here in 8 minutes” she said, glancing at her watch. “You drive me home. And we’ll settle this.”

Here is an anomaly I don't quite understand. Why is it that 99% of sex toys are penetration oriented?

Is it that the dildo and vibrator are hyper-evolved to near perfection and now enjoy widespread adoption because they've been the best available technology for some critical amount of time?

Or does the human hand enjoy some unfair advantage in certain applications, setting an impossibly high standard for a rival technology?

Why do scrap yard inventors, who I expect are predominantly male, spend their weekends welding together an endless parade of fucking apparati aimed at pulverizing a human vagina and exactly zero time working out the intricacies of adapting candle making equipment into multicoat cock waxing and buffing gear? Am I the only one who thinks about these things as I am fed slowly through the carwash?

Amy and I started training two months before our first big wall climb. We were going to attempt El Capitan. Not only did we need to physically train, but we needed to get very comfortable with our coordination and support activities.

We were roped to the side of a pinnacle 60 feet off the ground watching the sunset. Perched on opposite ends of a 60" bivouac with a camping stove balanced between us, we were trying to cook dinner without setting either of us on fire.

"This has got to be the dumbest thing we've ever done" I offered. "Bivy fare is gatorade, gorp, and jerky - I'm starting to think I know why."

'This is hardly the dumbest thing we've ever done" she shot back. "I want warm food."

"Yeah, ok, me too." A gust of wind buffeted us as I said it and we both leaned forward to steady the pot of curry.

Even crappy food tastes amazing on a badass endorphin high; but good food after seven hours of carrying a pack and two hours of vertical climbing defies description, it is simply too good for words. Amy wolfed hers down in 40 seconds flat. I was still on my second spoonful, contemplating exactly which tastes were associated with which spices in the curry mix. I had every intention of doing this for the next half hour.

"Hurry up."

I looked around, doling the third spoonful into my mouth. The sun was setting now, a glorious messy sunset punctuated by stormclouds dumping columns of rain on the distant desert floor. Every so often, horizontal threads of lightning would arc between the thunderheads. It was beautiful and surreal, and only partly because of all the endorphins. "You're afraid we're going to be late to the dance?"

"I'm afraid you're going to fall asleep before I have an orgasm" she shot back.

I had not considered that. "You want to have monkey sex instead of prepping the shelter for that?" I said, pointing at the slow approach of the monsoon. She was nodding as she started to rock the bivy playfully back and forth. I rolled my eyes and started eating faster. "Fucking psycho."

Five minutes later, I was laying on my back with my knees hooked over the end of the bivy. Her powerful thighs were clamped around my head like a vice and she was bouncing up and down as she ground her pussy against my mouth. Every so often, she would take a swat at my stiff cock or lean forward and bite it. For my part, I was kissing, licking, nibbling, and probing her with my tongue, frantically working the last muscle in my body which had not succumbed to exhaustion. The first drops of rain from the approaching monsoon were falling on my exposed belly and legs and the frequency of wind gusts seemed to be picking up as well.

Somehow I managed to find the strength to lift my arm and slip it between her legs. I put my first two fingers into my mouth, giving them a liberal coating of saliva, and then rammed them all the way into her. I gave them a couple good twists as the vice tightened appreciably and then started driving them in and out. Either the wind had pick up considerably, or she was making a lot of noise now.

20 seconds later, she used my cock as a handhold to swing herself around before mounting me. We nearly flipped the bivy in the process. Some part of my brain briefly flashed on the slo-mo of the manuever; it was really kind of impressive how we managed to rearrange our collective center of mass on a swinging platform and still get all of the interlocking pieces of anatomy assembled correctly. If Cirque du Soleil ever goes porno, that's the move I'm using in my audition.

The monsoon was still making its entry, perhaps 5 minutes away but plenty close to inspire awe. It was a moving wall of water and electricity, a mile high tidal wave lit internally with its own fireworks display. Amy looked like something out of mythology, all Goddess proportioned with her long wet hair blowing wildly in the rising wind, backlit by a circus show of lighting. She was clutching one of the trapeeze wires of the bivy in her right hand, a fistful of my hair in her left as we hammered out our percussion act, echoed by the rolling thunder.

The sensation of racing against time was palpable, our pounding rythym accellerating with each passing moment, our tortured bodies rising to the occaission as we pushed past the limits of exhaustion. We peaked together just before the storm hit, our frenzied antics synchronized by the imminent deluge, both of us howling.

There was no time for a quiet moment as we frantically scurried about in the eerily lit darkness, securing the tarps and cocooning ourselves in our sleepsack.

20 minutes later, the storm had passed and we were laying on our backs, soaked to the bone, staring up at the clearing sky as the milky way materialized one star at a time.

She rolled towards me, biting my earlobe. "Wanna do it again?"

"Hell no" I was laughing, "I think I might be paralyzed."

"Well, you can't really stop me then, can you?"

Yesterday somebody accused me of being a sadosub. They were adamant that it was different than being a switch. Apparently the difference is that you don't want (or perhaps you would very much like) to be locked in a cage with a sadosub (as opposed to a subsub...Doms and Domming switches apparently don't hang out in cages). I know what you're thinking, because I don't get it either. This is exactly why nobody every talks about switches. Anyhoo...here is my sadosub perspective on softcore revenge cucking:

I was toweling my hair dry, headed for the coffee pot when I collided with her.

I was startled. She was bemused. I was also naked, unless you count the hand towel I was drying my hair with. "Tiffany Mason" she offered, extending her hand. I shook it without thinking, painfully aware of my nakedness. "You're a nice looking piece of meat." Her smile was predatory and I had the sensation of being violated as she checked me out head to toe. I noted with some distress that I had a rapidly evolving erection and that she had not yet released my hand.

To be fair, she was a nice looking piece of meat as well. Tall, thin, and perfectly proportioned with long wavy blond hair. She was well dressed. "I have a girlfriend" I stammered, trying to cover myself with the hand towel. "How did you get in here?"

She smirked, letting go of my hand. "Your roommate let me in." She had a large mailing envelope in her left hand which she handed to me. "Open it."

"Could you, uh, could you open it for me?" I asked, taking a half step backward, trying to create a little personal space.

"Oh, quit being such a baby" she quipped, forcing the envelope into my hand. She had closed the distance between us and I could feel the desk against my bare ass. As I glanced down at the envelope, she ripped the towel out of my hand and threw it across the room. "There, now neither of us will be distracted by that towel." She looked like she was about to start laughing. I felt confused, and shamefully excited. "Just open the envelope already."

I opened the envelope and pulled out a letter sized glossy photo. It was my girlfriend Amber getting butt fucked by some blonde surfer type. "How did you...when...I don't understand" I finally managed.

"Is that your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"That's my soon-to-be-very-sorry boyfriend Tyler. This was taken last night, around 10:45."

"I see." I had a sick feeling, like somebody had just punched me in the gut and I was about to vomit. "It's not quite what I pictured when she said she was going to the Library." I looked up, making eye contact with her finally. "Thanks for the," I paused shaking my head in disbelief "thanks for the heads up." I put the picture back in the envelope and handed it to her.

"Do you need help breaking up with her?"

"Excuse me?" I was momentarily annoyed. "Do I look like I need help?"

"A little bit, yeah. Besides, I have a favor to ask you."

I suddenly felt an overwhelming need to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and pray this was all just a very realistic dream. She intercepted me as I tried to slip past her, pinning me against the desk and pressing her body against mine. She ran her fingernails lightly down my back as she bit my right earlobe.

"Here's my plan" she whispered. "I'm going to grab Ty like this." I inhaled sharply as her right fist closed around my cock. She started stroking me as she continued. "I'm going to get him all worked up and then force him to his knees, like this." In one smooth motion, she moved me past her, twisting my arm behind my back and forcing me to my knees. I winced as she slapped a handcuff on my wrist; where the hell did those come from? Forcing my legs apart with her knees, she reached between my legs and grabbed my balls in her left hand. "Give me your other hand please, and I'll show you how I'm going to finish cuffing him." She knocked me off balance playfully as I made a token attempt at resistance, then squeezed my balls until I offered up my other hand. She grabbed it and locked the other handcuff in place. She stood and walked around me, hands on hips, looking down at me.

"I think you might be cuter than Ty." For a passing moment, I had an inexplicable and totally irrational desire to ask her out.

I watched in fascination as she hiked up her skirt and untied her panties. "So, after I confront him and he goes through his whole lieing little shit routine and then I show him the picture, I'm going to stuff these in his mouth, thusly." She pressed her panties to my face. When I turned my head sideways and didn't open my mouth, she slapped me, pressing them against my teeth until I opened my mouth. She forced them all the way into my mouth and them made a wiping motion over my lips. "That was the duct tape, so he can't spit them out while I'm bitch slapping his sorry ass. I'll let him spit them out when he is good and ready to apologize and beg for forgiveness."

She settled in front of me and gently extricated her panties from my mouth. Reaching down, she wrapped the panties around my throbbing cock and started to stroke it. She giggled as I connected the dots, comprehension finally dawning on my face. "C'mon spunky. I want a nice shot of poetic justice from you."

Monique was like something out of a spy movie: smart, sophisticated, calculating, and always two steps ahead of the game. She smelled like money dipped in sex and her voice came straight from some smokey jazz den, french accent and all. She was tens years my senior, though you wouldn't know it from looking at her. She was an art dealer, my rep, and the cruelest taskmaster I have ever met. She had long ago convinced me that she was the key to my success. We were having coffee in her office, discussing the paintings I had just brought in.

She took a long drag on her cigarette and turned to me. "Which of these would you say is a masterpiece?"

"Well..." I looked around at the four pieces, painfully aware of what was about to happen.

"They're all shit, Ian. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit" she said pointing to each of the four paintings in turn. "You know they're shit. I know they're shit." She took another drag on her cigarette and narrowed her eyes. "Why would you even attempt to defend...this?" she waved her hand dismissively.

Because I want this goddamn cage off my cock, I thought darkly. I want my life back. I want my pride back. I want to fuck every woman in this god forsaken village senseless, twice. "I dunno, Monique. I can't focus. I'm going crazy."

"Don't grind your teeth, darling. It's unattractive.' She leaned over and put her hand on my thigh. "If you're going to bring me trash, darling, try to bring me six pieces next time. We need to support you in the lifestyle to which you are accustomed." She paused, taking in the new pieces one last time. "This will not pay the rent."

"I just don't think I buy into this sexual frustration is the pathos that fuels genius business. And even if it does, look at Van Gogh...if the guy had learned to masturbate better he might not have cut off his ear and shot himself through the heart."

"Are you going to make me rich, darling?" She feigned excitement, or maybe it was real. "I am the custodian of the last great works of Ian Davis. Can you not see the frustration, nay, the desperation in the brushwork?" She slid her hand up the inside of my thigh and ran her long manicured fingernails along the contours of my bound cock and balls.

"Now they're great works, are they?" It was a lame attempt, my attention already split between the pain my erection was causing and the insane pleasure induced by her ministrations.

"No Ian. Still shit. You're just a monkey with a stick and some oily mud, hopelessly stalking the eternal. Fortunately, you have me to help you along." She stamped out the last of her cigarette, my cue that our meeting was over. "Next week Ian, bring me a masterpiece. Then I'll show you 35 days of pent up pleasure distilled into a single moment of ecstasy. It'll be something you'll not soon forget."

Sheba is haunting my dreams. She whispers her dirty thoughts to me, punctuated by laughter. The smell of incense and cloves cling to the air. A gentle breeze stirs. And I can barely discern the soft rustle of silk against bare skin and the choked back moan of pleasure as she feeds relentlessly on my frustration. There is no refuge from her ravenous appetite, no escape, no release, no mercy.

Negotiation is pointless, I have no leverage...unless... A risky gambit comes to mind, crystallizes, settles. It’s a terrible plan, of course, but there is at least a glimmer of hope.

"Head I win, tails you lose." She was dressed in a skimpy devil costume, waving her three-pronged spear at me menacingly.

Something was wrong. I shifted my weight awkwardly in my gorilla outfit. "You must know my ex-wife" I shot back smartly.

"You poor fuck," she sneered, "you can't even keep track of all the people who want to see your balls in a vise. It must be a bitch knowing that every hotty who flirts with you could be out to get you." Her spear grazed my cock as she hooked it between my legs. "But you're still dumb enough to keep trying.”

"Hey, stop..." I inhaled sharply as she levered her spear upward, her eyes locked with mine. Seconds later I was doubled over on floor, pain searing through my groin. "What the fuck..." I howled as I involuntarily worked myself into a fetal position.

"Oh, this old thing?" she waved the spear tip over my face. "It's a modified cattle prod, for training show dogs." To emphasize her point she jabbed my shoulder with it, inducing a sharp jolt of pain and an involuntary twitch all the way down my right arm. "It suits you."

"Please do put up a fight" she suggested menacingly as I narrowed my stance involuntarily. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time. If you disappoint me, I'll just come back for more."

Beyond the locked door, eight feet away, loud music continued thumping as a houseful of people raved on toward midnight. But after two painful attempts at standing up, it was clear that this was not going to end with a hasty retreat.

She flashed me an evil grin as she planted the sole of her boot on my chest. "Take your pants off."

I don't know if I hesitated or if she really just wanted to nail me again, but she managed to prod me right in the balls despite my best efforts to the contrary. "Mmm, thank you" she purred "I had no idea you would be this stupid and belligerent. This is really much better than I had hoped."

I watched the prod rise and fall in sick fascination as I desperately tried to get my pants off. She planted it squarely on my belly and let it rest there. I kicked my shoes off violently and then pulled my pants off a second later. The tip of the prod wandered south coming to rest on my bulging silk boxers. "Just give me a reason, you sick little bastard." All I could do was whimper.

"Now take your mask off."

It wasn't a mask of course, it was a gorilla head. As I complied, she tore it out of my hands and threw it on the bed. Then she leaned forward and spit in my face. Apparently dissatisfied, she took a long moment to prepare and then spit in my face again.

"That's better." She was hiking up her skirt and untying her silky pink panties as she said it. She waved the panties daintily over me, balled them up, and then threw them across the room on the floor. "Fetch.” She withdrew her boot and I struggled, shaking uncontrollably, to roll over and regain my balance, wary of what would happen if I bumped against the boots on either side of me.

She planted her knee in the center of my back, pinning me on my stomach. "Crawl you little fuck...before I lose my patience." I could feel her hot, wet pussy pressed against my lower back as the steel tip of the prod played back and forth across my ass.

It was only two or three feet, but she made it very difficult. “God, you’re fucking weak. C’mon you piece of shit. Go.” When I had finally picked up the panties in my mouth, she got off me. "Give them to me."

I turned, struggling to my knees and offered them to her.

"Closer. Get right up in here show some enthusiasm." I inched forward, awkwardly at first, then brushed the panties against her inner thigh and tilted my head up to try and see her face. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and surreptitiously ground my face against her pussy. Then she pulled the panties from my teeth and threw them across the room again.

She didn't say a word, she just snapped her fingers and I was charging across the room on all fours. Moments later, I had retrieved the panties and was back at her feet, pressing them hard against her pussy. She rubbed herself with them, mopping up her juices and then forced them back in my mouth. "Stay."

She moved lightly across the room and picked up the gorilla head, brought it back, and slipped it over my head. Without letting go, she wrapped a collar around my neck, securing the gorilla head in place. "That's a shock collar, just so we're clear. You don't fuss with it. You don''t try to take it off. You do exactly what I say until I'm done with you, Capiche?"

Stepping back, she walked around me and put her hands on her hips as if admiring her work.

"Happy Valentines Day, loser." She was waving a finger in my face, giddy. She leaned in close, grabbing my head and putting her mouth to the mask next to my ear. "YOU...LOSE! That's what losers do, isn't it?" “Yeah” she said as she forced my gorilla head up and down in a nodding motion. “Yeah.”

I have no idea who she was. But every year on Valentine’s day, I 'fetch' those panties from their special box and chew on them as I masturbate to the memory of her voice.